


Finding the Word

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz's POV, FitzSimmons is Skye's OTP, FitzSkimmons is my BrOT3, Fluff, Matchmaking, Post-Finale, Romantic Fluff, Simmons is too smart for her own good, Skye's POV, pseudo AU in which everyone's happy & healthy, things I want to happen in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were doing it again. That thing, that look that either drove Skye up the wall or made her want to doodle little stick figures kissing and hand it over to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding the Word

They were doing it again. That thing, that look that either drove Skye up the wall or made her want to doodle little stick figures kissing and hand it over to them. It was a normal morning on the Bus, and she was working in the lab with FitzSimmons – or, technically, near FitzSimmons. She wondered if they even remembered that she’d asked a question at all, so intent were they on alternating between scientific mutters and hidden stares. 

FitzSimmons weren’t babies, Skye knew that – had known that more than ever when watching them struggle through Hydra and Ward’s betrayal. They were older than her, technically, and were both far more comfortable in their own skins than she ever had been. Growing up, Skye’s identity had practically changed from week to week, house to house, but she couldn’t ever imagine them being anything other than... well, them. But then Ward had broken all of them, in one way or another, and FitzSimmons had both almost died, and Fitz had spent weeks in the Playground’s med bay recovering, and... something had changed.

Neither of them would talk to Skye about it, which was disconcerting, to say the least. She had no doubts that they both considered her their family (after a discussion they’d had one, long night in Fitz’s hospital room), but still neither Fitz nor Simmons would explain what had happened in the pod at the bottom of the ocean, other than that Fitz was a hero. (This was a refrain Simmons liked repeating whenever she told the story to a new listener, as if his role was ever in question, and still made Fitz supremely uncomfortable, much to Skye’s general amusement.)

Once Fitz had been medically cleared, things became _more_ normal, but not quite the same. Skye knew that no one else had noticed like she had – this came from her own, self-assigned recon sessions in the lab. Their chemistry was different (she rolled her eyes at the thought, knowing that Simmons would tell her that it didn’t make sense), somehow both more open and more unsure. They weren’t dating, yet – Skye’d be able to tell that, too. She had a sense for that kind of thing. (And her bunk shared a wall with Fitz’s.) But it seemed like they were teetering on a precipice, and Skye was determined to either be there when the balance was finally upset, or to at least give them a push.

“You two are insufferable.”

Both scientists turned to her, Fitz looking vaguely scandalized and Simmons appearing thoroughly insulted.

“We haven’t said anything in five minutes,” Simmons said, putting down a box of samples. “How could we possibly be acting insufferably –”

“– if we haven’t even spoken?” Fitz finished for her, reaching over for one of his tools. 

Skye’s mouth quirked up at the corner despite her faux-grumpiness. “You’re doing that thing again.”

Simmons rolled her eyes. “Yes, that ‘thing,’ how dare we. You know, Skye, I’ve never really appreciated how much of a wordsmith you are.”

Fitz snickered and Skye threw a balled-up scrap of paper in their general direction. “That thing you two do with the not speaking and the looking...” Skye waved two fingers in front of her own eyes, and then pointed them repeatedly at each of the confused scientists in turn. “Oh, come on, you do it all the time, you know exactly what I mean. I just don’t know what to call it other than l–” She stopped just short of embarrassing them more than she intended and waved her hand vaguely as a lame conclusion to her sentence.

As he continued to polish a small disc of some high-tech metal that was probably worth more than anything Skye had ever owned, Fitz gave Simmons a sardonic look. “Did you have more than two cups of coffee again this morning, Skye?” 

Skye opened her mouth and then closed it again, giving him a quick glare. They definitely knew each other too well. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just avoiding the real –”

“Mamihlapinatapai,” Simmons broke in, and then ducked down to retrieve the washcloth she’d dropped. There was a beat of silence, and then Fitz and Skye broke their own befuddled eye contact to turn to Simmons.

“I’m sorry, what were the noises that just came out of your mouth?” Skye leaned forward on her desk, edging her laptop to the side.

“Mamihlapinatapai,” Simmons repeated more slowly, carefully drying out a sample dish. “I believe that’s the word for which you were looking. It’s derived from the Yaghan language –”

“Of Tierra del Fuego?” Fitz interrupted, his Scottish accent twisting over the words in surprise. “How do y– no, wait, I should not be surprised that you know Yaghan, of all languages.” Simmons gave him an exasperated glance, although her eyes crinkled in faint amusement.

“Mah-mee-lay-pain...” Skye tripped over her tongue and sighed. “Say it again.”

“Mah-mee-lah-pin-yah-tah-pie,” Fitz sounded out, trying the word for himself and earning a pleased smile from Simmons.

“Well done, Fitz,” she said, and Skye huffed over in her little corner of underappreciated wit.

“Show off.” Fitz gave Skye a look that she suspected would have involved him sticking out his tongue if they were all eighteen years younger. “So, what’s it mean?”

Skye noted the breath Simmons took before lifting her head to see the other two staring at her. Since the pod, Simmons had been the most different in their interactions, a little jumpier and more sensitive to teasing than she once was, and Skye assumed it had to do with her weakness at lying and truth-concealing. And the fact that one of Skye’s skills was figuring out how to press peoples’ buttons. 

Simmons flipped gently through a small box of samples as she answered. “It’s difficult to translate precisely. Generally, it’s thought to describe a look that two people share during an unspoken moment, when each knows the other understands this expressive and meaningful silence.”

Fitz gave a thoughtful nod, and Skye quickly shook her head, feeling like a cartoon character that had just been spun rapidly around. “You know, it’s really disconcerting when you turn into a human dictionary.” 

“I was just answering your question, Skye,” Simmons retorted, setting aside the samples and reaching for her lab goggles. Fitz was watching her intently, assembling part of an ICER without needing to look at his hands. “And now you’re officially distracting us from our work.”

Skye held her hands up, palms out. “Alright, fine, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Her tone was light, but she knew that something about this conversation had worn out Simmons’ patience. “I’ll go see what AC’s up to.” She snapped her laptop shut and ambled to the door, observing how Fitz continued to stare at Simmons over his work. _So_ completely insufferable.

“For the record,” Skye said, leaning through the doorway, “that thing is _totally_ what you two were doing.” As she took the metal stairs two at a time, she could almost hear the intensity of Simmons’ eye-roll.

 

\------

 

Later that afternoon, Fitz watched Jemma bustle from one lab table to the next, gray lab coat flapping around the corners as she went. He was holding a tool and the parts that he was supposed to be assembling, but his brain kept getting stuck on the conversation from this morning, and that inevitably led to him watching Jemma instead of doing his own work. Sometimes this incredible rush of relief that she was alive, and that he was here to see her live, hit him in the middle of his chest, expanding outwards and making everything around him feel ecstatically unreal. Most days, that was enough for Fitz – just knowing that, and being near her. But other days, days like today, he was reminded of the “ _more_ ” that he so fervently wanted, and that, sometimes, he thought Jemma might want, too.

“What’s going on, Fitz?”

He started, dropping the joint piece he’d been holding. “Wh-what?”

Jemma stood on the other side of his table, notebook and pencil in hand and eyebrow quirked upwards. “You’ve been staring at me on and off for the past twenty minutes.”

“I have not – I’ve been working.”

“You have literally just moved that screwdriver from the left side of the table to the right, and shifted around those pieces a little bit.” Fitz spluttered indignantly and grabbed at the screwdriver, realizing belatedly that this didn’t actually help his case. Jemma grinned at his discomfort and, after digging around in the pocket of her lab coat, held up a coin between her thumb and forefinger. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He smiled briefly back at her, and then ducked his head, twisting the screwdriver in his palm. “I was just thinking about this morning.”

“The new ICER or Skye’s incorrigibility?” Jemma quipped, striding over to her desk by the wall, and Fitz chuckled. 

“Neither, exactly... that word, mamihla...” 

“Mamihlapinatapai,” she finished for him automatically, and he thought he saw pink tinge her cheeks. 

“Yeah, that. I looked it up while you were making lunch. I was curious about the roots, so...”

“Oh.” She was studiously not looking back at him now, and Fitz suspected that she knew exactly where he was going with this. He started slowly making his way over to her, abandoning all pretense of work. 

“You missed a definition, y’know.”

There was a slight scuffle as Jemma retrieved her dropped pencil. “Did I?”

“Yeah. It’s the one that’s given for it more often, actually.”

“I should really brush up on my Yaghan,” she joked, her voice slightly breathier than normal.

Fitz shifted around so he could see her face, desperate for a clue as to what she was thinking, standing less than a hand’s-width away from her left side. “D’you want to know what it is?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway, Fitz.” Despite his closeness she was still refusing to look at him and instead continued to stare down at the file she’d pulled from a drawer and then neglected to open.

Fitz reached just the few centimeters over and tugged gently on the sleeve of her coat, forcing her finally to make eye contact. “A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will offer something that they both desire but are unwilling to suggest themselves.”

Jemma pursed her lips, breathing somewhat shallowly, but she didn’t break his gaze, instead searching his eyes as he studied the dips and crevasses of her irises, warm brown periodically flashing with gold. Some days, days like this, he couldn’t understand how it had taken him so long to realize he’d fallen for her. He suspected it was rather like looking at something under a microscope; if you spend so much time right up close to your subject, you’re likely to miss the big picture.

Jemma broke the silence with a quick smile. “Rather like this, you mean?” They both laughed, and she didn’t move away, instead bringing her gaze back to his. “What are we now, Fitz?”

The truth was that they’d tried talking about their relationship back when he was still under medical leave – or at least Jemma had, barging into his hospital room late one night and outside of visiting hours. She’d rambled about their friendship, understanding if his recovery had changed his mind, and half a dozen other things before finally getting to the problem of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s regulations – just as a nurse stormed in to eject this illicit guest. All Fitz had been able to say was that he had _not_ changed his mind, and then Jemma was yanked firmly out of the room. That had been months ago, and he hadn’t wanted to press the subject until she was ready, so they’d settled into an uneasy gray area that resulted in a lot of thought and very little action.

He slid his hand across the edge of the desk to tangled his fingers gently with hers, her cool skin easing the nervous warmth of his. “I dunno, Jemma. We sort of talked about –”

“Section 17, but we don’t even know if that matters now, with –”

“Coulson as Director.”

Jemma pulled his hand more firmly into hers, and Fitz studied her face, trying to read her expression the way that he could when they talked about their work. “I think...” he started, and then chuckled a little darkly. “I mean, I’ve been fairly clear about my feelings. It’s sort of up to you, now.” 

She inhaled and placed her other hand on his chest, over his heart, startling him enough that he had to force his pulse to slow. “I looked it up, you know.”

“What?”

Speaking in stops and starts, she sounded so unlike normal Jemma, who just plowed through sentences and thoughts like a bullet through water. “We – I thought I remembered it, from extra reading at the Academy, and we’ve been... doing this, whatever this is, for weeks, and it was driving me... or, months, really, but I didn’t know until... so, yes, I looked it up last week.” She took a deep breath again and returned her gaze to his, eyes widened as if she was waiting for his response.

Fitz frowned lightly and gave his head a small shake – he had no idea what she meant. Jemma sighed, glancing over his shoulder and gnawing at her lower lip. Even if he could have guessed, maybe, what she was trying to say, he didn’t want to push, even a little, because he knew now what he wanted but he was more afraid of losing her entirely than he was of things staying the same. Jemma Simmons wasn’t the first girl he’d loved, but she was absolutely the most important.

Without warning, she turned and leaned quickly up to press her lips firmly against his – a little too hard, if he was being honest, his teeth cutting slightly into the back of his lips. Once he caught up, however, he was able to gently pull back, adjusting the pressure and fitting his lips against hers in a real kiss, the kind of kiss he’d been thinking about for far longer than he was prepared to admit. The hand she’d left on his chest curled around his tie and shirt buttons, tugging him closer, and she cut back a surprised moan when he traced his tongue briefly along the seam of her lips. Fitz broke away from her then, worried that this was more than she’d bargained for and knowing that his own self-control only went so far if she continued to let him kiss her.

Jemma didn’t step away, instead seeming frozen in place as she stared up at his lips, and her abnormal silence started to worry him. “Jemma?” He peered down, angling to make eye contact. “Are you... was that... are you alright?”

This seemed to break whatever spell she was under, and she nodded brusquely at his concern, untangling her fingers from his clothes. “Yes, yes, that was a good data point.” 

Fitz blinked and then narrowed his eyes, moving one hand onto his waist. “That was a test?”

“Of a sort,” she answered, her cheeks now definitively pink. “I’ve had a hypothesis – you are quite attractive, objectively speaking, especially considering most other people in our field –”

Fitz snorted, interrupting her long enough that he could fit his hand over Jemma’s mouth to stop her nervous rambling. “I genuinely don’t know if I should start with you thinking I’m attractive, or that you’ve just insulted most scientists.” 

Jemma huffed, and he removed his hand. “Don’t you dare put your hand over my mouth again, Leopold Fitz, or I’ll bite you.”

“Is that a promise?” He shot back without thinking, and then flushed beet red. “I – I didn’t – that was –” Fitz halted his stammering and then groaned, shaking his head. “ _Lord_ , I’m bloody shite at this.” 

Jemma laughed, the sound loosening a tightness in his chest, and ducked her face into his neck, forehead pressed into his jaw, curling her fingers into the loose fabric of his sleeve. “I think you’re doing just fine, Fitz.” Her breath against his skin caused a shiver to run through him, and she turned her face up, meeting his eyes. “We’ll just have to get used to this. To us. As something the same, but somewhat different.” 

“With more human testing,” he replied drily, and she rolled her eyes.

“It just confirmed what I already thought, Fitz.” Jemma took a deep breath. “To hell with section 17.” 

Something about the way she said that – the tease of her proper English accent, the decisiveness of her tone, or the knowledge that _Jemma_ was choosing to disobey an official rule – made heat shoot straight through him. Fitz glanced down at her mouth, and then back up at her eyes, staring so intently at him, and he was suddenly reminded of the day when he’d offered up his life rather than struggle to find the right words. He still didn’t know what to say, not really, and he probably never would, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t start trying. 

“Can I...?” She traced his gaze and licked her lips, nodding.

This time, Fitz set the pace, sweeping her hair behind her ear and settling his hand at the back of her neck, tilting her head up as he leaned down. The kisses were light, testing, as he waited to see how Jemma responded – and respond she did. He’d remember later that she tasted lightly of vanilla chapstick, that her lips flushed a shade darker after he’d been kissing them and yet somehow only ever seemed softer, and that when he pressed his tongue to her pulse point was the first time she whispered his given name.

But in the moment, his mind kept half-drifting off to that strange word about looks, desires, and offerings, and he decided that even untranslatable words weren’t enough. For he was holding Jemma in his arms, in their lab, and they’d continue to spend their days with their new family doing their part to save the world, and no words could quite describe how that was exactly everything Fitz wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Another flufflet - having Skye meddle in FitzSimmons' relationship is clearly my favorite thing.
> 
> This was inspired by a double-dog dare included in the tags of a tumblr post, and who am I to defy a double-dog dare?
> 
> Thank you, as ever, to MK for editing!


End file.
